Dreamwielder

by Garrett Calcaterra

  “What organization?”

  Stephen regarded him silently for a moment before responding. “Why do you want to know, Prince? Is it for vengeance or something more? Answer me truthfully.”

  Caile was silent. He’d assumed an outward air of calmness, but his insides were churning with nervous tension. He knew what Lorentz would be telling him if he we there: get up and leave right now. Caile was too close to just up and walk away though. “I’m looking for something more,” he finally said.

  Stephen nodded. “Very well then. Finish your ale, then go to the privy at the back of the tavern. When you’re done, head out the back door into the alley. Two buildings down on the right, you’ll see stairs heading into a basement. Knock five times on the door and we’ll talk.” The man drained his ale and stood up. “Take your time. We shouldn’t be seen leaving together.”

  Caile lifted his mug to his face and watched silently as Stephen left through the front door. He was nervous now, suspicious of everyone in the tavern. Any one of them could be watching for all he knew. Any one of them could be an agent of the Emperor. He turned toward the front door and caught a brief glimpse of a woman stepping out. Was that the turnip lady? Did she follow me? His pulse was thrumming in his ears, and he forced himself to calm his breathing and relax. You’re being paranoid, he chided himself. Just relax. Don’t draw attention to yourself. There’s no reason for anyone here to suspect you’re up to no good.

  He finished his ale slowly, keeping an eye on the front door, but saw no sign of the turnip lady or anyone else who looked suspicious. When he was done with the ale and went to the privy, he found he earnestly needed to relieve himself. After urinating, he stepped out the back door and meandered down the alleyway toward his right. There was another man in the alleyway vomiting, but otherwise no one was in sight. Caile hurried past the drunkard and found the stairway Stephen had described. He rapped on the door five times; it opened immediately and Caile stepped down into darkness.

  “Are you armed?” a voice asked. It was not Stephen’s.

  “A boot knife, nothing more,” Caile responded. Light suddenly shone in his face and he shielded his eyes enough to see someone had lifted the damper on a lantern. “Where’s Stephen?”

  “I’m here,” Stephen said behind the darkness. “We must know we can trust you before we reveal ourselves. Please listen and answer all the questions asked of you. If you move, you will be killed. If you do not answer a question, you will be killed. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” the other voice said. “Who do you swear fealty to—the Emperor or your father, King Casstian?”

  “I swear fealty to no one—I swear fealty to Pyrthinia,” Caile said without hesitation.

  Taera opened her eyes and gazed at the canopy over her bed. She was breathing normally and was not covered in sweat, which surprised her. She’d seen a ship and a cavern of ice in her sleep again. And the beautiful girl. Those visions had become common enough, but the new visions—her father in chains, and Caile lying in a dank cellar with his throat slit—would have frightened her into hysterics in the past. Yet for whatever reason, ever since the incident with Caile and the firewielder, she’d taken the visions in stride. Whereas before she would force the visions away and do everything in her power to ignore them, it was as if she’d subconsciously decided to accept the visions now. This realization made her feel better. She was frightened, but she didn’t feel so powerless anymore. She glanced toward her window and saw that it was still several hours before dawn. In the morning, she would warn her father about the danger to him and Caile both, she decided. She’d warned Caile last time, and it had saved their lives.

  10

  The Uncaring Ocean

  The Esterian Ocean was flat as far as the eye could see in every direction. Overhead the sun glared at its apex in a windless, cloudless sky.

  “Can I jump in the water again, Parmo?” Makarria asked, standing up at the bow of the skiff to stretch and wipe the sweat from her face.

  “Not now,” her grandfather said, not bothering to look back from where he sat at the oars. “I saw the dorsal fin of a shark a few minutes ago, so you best stay out.”

  Makarria’s eyes widened at the mention of sharks, but she said nothing and sat back down at her bench. It had only been two days since the storm passed, but it had been the most difficult two days of her life. They had lost most of their sail in the heavy winds when one of Makarria’s knots came loose where it was battened down to the yard arm; all that was left was a tattered strip less than a yard wide. Their food stores had been ruined too, when the skiff had been washed over by wave after wave and the briny water soaked through the wool blankets and oilskin covering the salted goat meat. That left them with nothing to eat but fish, which there were plenty of, but they had no way of cooking their catch, and Makarria could only eat so much raw fish before gagging on the spongy texture.

  The two of them had been taking turns at the oars, but to Makarria it seemed as if they were standing still. With no land mass or even clouds as a point of reference, it was impossible to tell they were moving at all. Makarria was hot and tired and hungry, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up on her sleeping mat back home. Parmo had insisted she wrap the remnant of the sail around her like a shawl to keep from getting sunburned, but the canvas was coarse and itchy—nothing like her soft sleeping furs. Makarria realized quite suddenly that she missed her mother, and the memory of Prisca tucking her into bed every night nearly brought her to tears. She sniffled them back though. She’d not yet cried in front of her grandfather on this voyage and she didn’t mean to start now.

  Facing away from Makarria at the stern, Parmo paddled on, his muscles sore and the novelty of having a young body forgotten for the time being. He knew Makarria was miserable too, but there was nothing for it. He’d gotten them into this mess with his rash decision to cross the ocean, and he now needed to focus his whole attention on getting them out of it. Prisca would flay me alive if she knew what I’ve done, he chastised himself. Just because I’m living on borrowed time now, it doesn’t give me the right to drag Makarria into more danger than she was already in.

  He had set their initial course from Spearpoint Rock due east, intent on sailing through the northwesterly trade current then veering southeast to the East Islands. Now that they were without a sail though, he had reversed course. He knew they wouldn’t make it to the East Islands paddling, so instead he meant to catch the trade current and head north beyond the Kal Pyrthin Bay along the coast to Tyrna. Makarria would be happier with land in sight, and once they reached Tyrna they could find work on one of the fishing trawlers that worked the northern waters. There were only another two months of fishing before icebergs began forming in the waters off the Barrier Mountains, and then all the trawler captains would take their ships and crews south to fish the warmer waters near the East Islands or Valaróz. It would be hard, dangerous work, but the Emperor would never think to look for Makarria on a fishing boat, and in three months time they would be safe and warm on the East Islands. Makarria would have to cut her hair short in the meantime and pretend to be a boy, but Parmo decided he’d break that news to her when the time came. Let’s keep it to one piece of bad news at a time, he told himself.

  The news Taera had told him weighed heavily on King Casstian. There was nothing he could do to help his son Caile, but he would not sit idly by and let his daughter be taken away from him by Wulfram and that damned houndkeeper Natarios, he decided. Casstian’s men had spied Natarios taking the scent-hound out of his tower and loading her onto a covered wagon. Clearly Natarios was narrowing down his search and Casstian didn’t dare keep Taera around a day longer and risk her having another vision. She’d seen a ship in her visions two nights before, so he meant to send her away on one.

  At the mouth of the River Kylep in Kal Pyrthin Bay sat Pyrthin’s Flame, the new flagship for Pyrthinia’s navy. In truth, she was still under construction—the bunks in the
main hold had yet to be installed, and the captain’s quarters and guest cabins were only partly furnished—but the master shipbuilder assured Casstian Pyrthin’s Flame was seaworthy, and so Casstian had moved the launching ceremony forward by two weeks time.

  Taera observed the ceremony at her father’s side. He had yet to tell her she was leaving, but she knew what was happening as soon as she saw the ship. She paid little heed to the crew members introduced to her and to the blessing her father gave the ship in the name of Tel Mathir. It was as if she had lived the entire experience before in a dream, and she followed her father around wordlessly. It wasn’t until the captain took them on a tour of the ship and Taera found herself standing face to face with a half-naked young woman in the royal guest cabin that it all became real.

  “I’m sending you away, Taera,” Casstian said. “It’s not safe here for you anymore.”

  “I know.”

  “Kiss me then and dress this girl in your gown. She will stay here in Kal Pyrthin and pretend to be you for a while at least so no one knows you’ve left.”

  Taera kissed her father on his thin cheeks and hugged him, then he spun away and left the room along with the captain. Taera turned to regard the young woman waiting before her. She was younger than Taera by a few years, but she had the same blond hair and a similar build. She stood nervously, wearing only her undergarments.

  “What’s your name?” Taera asked.

  The girl blushed and lowered her eyes. “Nessa, Your Highness.”

  “And you live here in Kal Pyrthin?”

  “Yes. I am a lady at The Olive House.”

  Taera sighed inwardly. The Olive House was a brothel. How is it that fate made me a princess and yet made this girl—who could be my sister by her looks—a whore?

  “Well from now on you’re a princess, Nessa,” Taera said, smiling for the girl. “Unlace my gown and I’ll help you into it.”

  The girl did as Taera said, and half an hour later Nessa was adorned as the Princess of Pyrthinia.

  “Once you get onto the deck of the ship, put up your parasol to keep your face in the shade and hidden as much as possible,” Taera told her. “Keep it up until you get into the royal coach, and try not to speak to anyone. I’ve been in a dour mood all day, so no one will think anything of you ignoring them.”

  The girl nodded wordlessly, and Taera ushered her out the door with a reassuring smile. Alone and now half-naked herself, Taera went to the wardrobe mounted to the wall beside the bed. Inside she found several simple dresses. She chose one, dressed, then sat on the narrow bed. Within the hour, the captain began yelling orders up on deck, and the moorings holding Pyrthin’s Flame were released.

  So the voyage begins, Taera mused, knowing she would soon meet the girl from her visions but wishing she knew so much more.

  11

  Beneath the Dark City

  Caile sat watching Lorentz run his men through combat drills in the training yard of Lightbringer’s Keep. Across the yard, outside the armory, a small audience had also gathered, comprised of soldiers from the Imperial Guard and Cavalry. It was commonplace enough for soldiers to observe and weigh one another’s worth on the practice field, but Caile knew this was more than casual observance: there was animosity between the troops. Caile’s men were confined to private barracks—little more than a dungeon, really—located in the basement beneath one of the palace wings. It was all Caile could do to convince the Emperor’s chamberlain to allow his men an hour a day to practice in the yard, and even that seemed to be an affront to the Emperor’s troops. There was nothing for it though. As much as Caile put on a facade of being a loyal servant, the truth of the matter was he wasn’t, and with the potential for trouble, he wanted to keep his men as sharp as possible.

  When Lorentz finally called a halt to the drills, the lot of them joined Caile to sit in the shade for the last few minutes they had before returning to their barracks.

  “Where’s your shadow?” Lorentz asked, looking for Meinrad amongst the onlookers near the armory.

  “I’ve been reassigned a new liaison,” Caile informed him. “Apparently the Emperor didn’t take kindly to Meinrad getting fall-down drunk last night. My new liaison is the giant lout there with the bushy black beard and the battle-axe. His name is Lindy.”

  Lorentz narrowed his eyes and glared at Caile. “What sort of tomfoolery have you been up to?”

  “As far as anyone else knows, just that: tomfoolery. A few ales, a few drams of spiced spirits. That’s all.”

  “I know you better than that, Caile. Your foolishness doesn’t stop with a few drinks.”

  “Foolishness?” Caile said with mock indignation. “I’d hardly say finding my brother’s killers is foolishness.”

  “You’re serious?”

  Caile nodded and leaned back onto his elbows so as to get closer to Lorentz but still look casual to the onlookers. “There’s an underground society, Lorentz,” he whispered, so even his own men couldn’t hear. “They want to overthrow the Emperor and kill Wulfram. They claim to have a sorceress in league with them.”

  “But they killed Cargan?”

  “By necessity. He was unwittingly bringing the Emperor’s men right to them.”

  “And yet they let you just walk away?”

  Caile shrugged. “I was alone, and I offered my help.”

  “Pyrthin’s arse, Caile,” Lorentz hissed. “You’re going to wind up dead just like your brother. What were you thinking? You didn’t tell them anything else did you?”

  “I didn’t have much choice in the matter,” Caile said, remembering what he had glimpsed in the dim light of that basement. “They had cross-bows trained on me, and they wanted to know whether they could trust me or not.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Mostly what secrets I knew about Bricio, but they seemed to know about all that already. They were more interested in Kal Pyrthin. They said the houndkeepers are after someone—a sorceress. I told them about the firewielder, and then…”

  “You didn’t tell them about Taera?”

  Caile looked up at his friend and protector. “You know about Taera?”

  “I’d have to be a lackwit not to, Caile. I was watching over you when you were a child, and the two of you would play. I was there when the firewielder attacked. I certainly know it wasn’t you who read the future. How could you tell them about her, Caile? Your own sister.”

  “They said Wulfram is after her, Lorentz, but that they would help protect her. My father can’t protect her. He has no power anymore.”

  Lorentz was quiet for a long moment as he took it all in. “Just because we have a common enemy,” he finally said, “it doesn’t mean these people are our allies or friends. We have no idea what their motives are.”

  Caile was grateful Lorentz acknowledged being on his side at least, an enemy of Emperor Guderian, but he knew his friend was right. Caile had never intended to say anything about Taera to anyone the previous night, but after getting Meinrad drunk, then drinking with the man who called himself Stephen, he had found himself more than a little drunk and nervous being surrounded in that dark basement by unknown faces.

  “They want to meet with me again tonight,” Caile said. “They want me to meet with their sorceress. What should I do?”

  “Did you promise them anything?”

  “I said I would come. I think they want as much information I can give them about Taera and Castle Pyrthin. I think they mean to steal her away.”

  “You’ll stay put then. Lie low for a while so we can both think this through. Keep that big brute of yours nearby. With any luck, these people have some spies here in the keep. They’ll hear that your old liaison was replaced and think you’re being forced to stay inside for a bit. They can’t fault you for that, and I’m more worried about the Emperor anyway. If he finds out you’ve been consorting with these type of people, it’ll be certain death for all of us.”

  “But we have to do something,” Caile said. “T
hey know about Taera. We have to find out if they’re allies or not.”

  “In due time, Caile. Your father is not as weak as you think him; he’ll keep Taera safe. We can find out more when things quiet down and the Emperor is not expecting anything. Patience is the key, my boy.”

  Caile could only nod in agreement.

  Later that night, long after his meal in the mess hall alongside his hulking liaison, Lindy, Caile laid on his bed staring at the dark ceiling. He’d jokingly asked Lindy over dinner if he wanted to visit some taverns, and the man had shrugged indifferently. Caile still had free reign to leave Lightbringer’s Keep it seemed, but he was uncertain whether that was a good sign or not. The Emperor either suspected nothing or wanted Caile to think he suspected nothing. Whatever the case was, Caile heeded Lorentz’s advice and told Lindy he intended to stay in for the night. The big man locked Caile in his room, the same as Meinrad had done on previous nights, and now Caile was there to stay until morning whether he liked it or not.

  Several hours passed beyond the hour when Caile had agreed to meet the sorceress in the city, and he couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened. Likely trouble, as Lorentz suspected, but perhaps not. What if they’re friends? We need all the help we can get if we want to oust the Emperor.

  A scraping noise in the corner of the room interrupted Caile’s reverie and he sat up, expecting to see a rat or roach scurrying about. There was nothing though, only the floor and the noise again. The hair at the nape of Caile’s neck stood up on end, and he quickly grabbed his boot knife, the only piece of weaponry he’d been allowed to keep. He slowly rose from the bed and approached the noise. It was definitely the sound of something scraping on stone, and as he got closer he saw that one of the floor-stones was slowly lifting upward. Caile pressed himself against one of the walls and knelt low to be within striking distance of whoever or whatever came up out of the hole.